


A Deadly Contraption

by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, F/M, Non-Graphic Smut, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Rittenhouse Agent Lucy Preston, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:55:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23088151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/pseuds/letmetellyouaboutmyfeels
Summary: Lucy Preston, Rittenhouse's best assassin, is assigned a new target.
Relationships: Garcia Flynn/Lucy Preston
Comments: 4
Kudos: 40





	A Deadly Contraption

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/183711296993/pocket-sized-heavily-armed-assassin-lucy

Mom was the one who always taught her that sometimes you had to get close to a mark in order to kill them. Killing could be an intimate business, Mom had explained.

Mom said a lot of things. Not all of them true. But just enough of them.

So when Lucy got the assignment: Garcia Flynn, NSA asset, she decided an intimate approach was necessary.

She was being sent in after Rittenhouse botched the job the first time. Popping a cap in someone while they were asleep in their house should be easy enough, but no, the idiots had gotten his wife and kid but Flynn escaped. Fled.

Lucy had plenty of better things to do than mop up the mess of some low-level goons, but no matter. Rittenhouse was family, and family was everything.

She told Mom she’d take care of it and set about tracking this Flynn down.

He had a military history list as long as her arm, clients all over the world thanks to his private security firm, and contacts in every special forces, espionage, and law enforcement agency in the world. Her first move?

Burn it all.

Lucy arranged for Flynn to end up on the terrorist watchlist—that got everyone on red alert and burned pretty much every bridge he had. Then she kept tabs on the friends he had in less savory places and waited for something to ping.

It took a few weeks, but at last, she got an alert: São Paulo.

Lucy made sure not to get herself too dressed up before she entered the bar. This wasn’t the kind of place a sophisticated woman went, this was where you went when you wanted to get so drunk you couldn’t see anymore. She wore dark red—she couldn’t have said why. Maybe something of the femme fatale in her.

Flynn was hunched over at the bar, trying to make himself seem less tall, less intimidating. Just wanting to be left alone. His shirt looked ragged, his hair was a wreck, as was his scruff. He seemed to be showering, at least, thank God, but the finer points of hygiene like shaving seemed to be escaping him.

Lucy sat down next to him. He had two shots in front of him and was downing a third. She held her finger up to the bartender and got her own shot placed in front of her.

“I’m guessing you’ve had a hell of a week too?” she asked.

“ _Não falo inglês_ ,” was the reply.

Yeah, that was a lie. “ _Então vou falar português_.”

Flynn snorted. “An American woman like you shouldn’t be in a place like this.”

“There are a lot of places I shouldn’t be.” Lucy downed her own shot. “So what, a man can drown his sorrows in a dingy bar and a woman can’t?”

“And what sorrows could you possibly be drowning.”

“My sister’s death,” Lucy snapped, and she didn’t have to fake the venom in her voice.

Flynn paused, looking at her for the first time. “My condolences.”

Lucy gave a bitter laugh. “I don’t want them. Besides. Doesn’t matter. I’ll get the bastards who did it.”

It was why she’d agreed to officially join Rittenhouse. Mom had been grooming her for years but Lucy had always said she wanted to be her own free agent. After Amy, though… she’d barged right into Mom’s office. _I want in._ She’d let Rittenhouse use her so long as she got to use them in return and find out who’d murdered her baby sister.

Flynn nodded, pushing his empty shot glass away. “My wife and baby daughter.”

Lucy wished she felt worse for that. She hated who she’d become, someone who saw death as only a passing shadow instead of the ice cold hand that most people felt. But she’d lived with it for so long, dealt in it, caused it…

“Are you going to get the people who did it?”

Flynn squinted at her. “How would you know…”

“Wife and daughter? Rarely natural deaths. Just one, sure. Both?” Lucy shook her head.

Flynn looked less suspicious. “Home invasion.”

Lucy looked at his empty glasses, then looked at her own. “Look, I’ll be up front with you. I’m kind of looking for a way to not… think, about anything, right now, and I’d rather that way not be through alcohol.”

Flynn looked at her for a long moment.

The next thing she knew they were stumbling back into the shitty motel he was holed up in, his mouth latched onto hers, her legs around his waist and her fingers buried in his hair. Fuck, even drunk and desperate the man knew what he was doing, and she immediately switched her plan from _kill him during sex_ to _kill him after a few orgasms_.

Flynn shoved her up against the wall and she eagerly arched her back, practically ripping his shirt off, wanting to get as much bare skin as possible. She knew full well he wasn’t thinking about her. He was thinking about Lorena, his wife. But who gave a fuck who he was picturing when his hand was sliding up her thigh and his mouth was making a trail of hot bruises down her neck?

She knew the moment he found the switchblade, the one strapped high up, because he laughed. “What?” she snapped. “A girl’s gotta have some backup.”

“Fair enough.” He tossed it aside, along with her underwear. Lucy tried to make note of where it fell, but then he was back to kissing her, touching her, and she couldn’t make note of anything other than him and the melting sensation between her legs.

He kept her pinned there, his mouth at her breasts, his fingers sliding into her, working her open, and all she could do was shudder and let the liquid fire consume her. She liked to be in charge in bed, always had been, but it had been so goddamn long since she’d had a dirty tryst like this and she was in no mood to try and stop this train. _God_ it felt good, it felt so good, his fingers long and thick inside her, knowing exactly what to do, and he wasn’t being gentle at all which she loved, she wasn’t made of fucking porcelain but some men (Noah, Wyatt) seemed to make that mistake but not him, not him, oh fuck oh God oh oh _oh_ —

Lucy got a hold of his hair and yanked him back up to her, kissing him savagely, biting, drawing blood and then swiping her tongue over it in a half-apology, shoving at him until he carried her to the bed. “Fuck me,” she practically spat. She wanted him inside her like a roaring inferno had been awakened in her chest.

Flynn growled at her and did just that, hard and dirty, until the headboard was slapping against the thin walls and she was pretty sure one of the neighbors cursed them out, but she couldn’t hear it over the roaring in her ears.

She came so hard her world went white.

Afterwards, she held him and gently pet through his hair, tasting salt on her lips, feeling warm liquid on her chest that didn’t come from her, and generously pretended that his shaking was because he’d come.

Flynn fell asleep, and she slid out from under him. She was careful not to wake him but she wasn’t too worried–he’d assume she’d sneak out anyway. That wasn’t the hard part.

Lucy walked over to the meager duffel bag stuffed with clothes he’d undoubtedly bought along the way. She’d heard he’d had to flee his house with nothing but the pajamas on his back.

Flynn hadn’t worn a belt and if he didn’t have one she could do it another way but it would make things rather…

What was this?

Lucy pulled out a journal of some kind and flipped through it.

Well, well, well, it was just chock full of Rittenhouse information. Looked like this was why Flynn had been targeted. He knew far too much about—

She nearly dropped the book.

 _Amy_.

Her sister’s sweet face stared up at her. Lucy felt, for the first time in years, tears spring into her eyes.

Oh. It seemed she could still cry, after all.

On the opposite page were notes, a newspaper clipping—no, that was a file clipping, saying something…

_…the execution was carried out under Carol Preston’s orders…_

Lucy’s heart stopped.

No.

No, no, Mom wouldn’t—Amy, her own—her own _daughter_ , Mom, what, _no_ …

There was a soft _click_ from a gun cocking and Lucy turned.

Flynn was watching her from the bed, gun pointed at her. He must’ve hidden it under the mattress, she thought, she hadn’t felt one under the pillows.

“I knew they’d send an expert eventually,” he told her. “You’re good. I genuinely believed you.”

“What do you know about Amy,” Lucy demanded. She held up the journal. “Is this true?”

“All of it.” Flynn sat up, gun still pointed at her. “And who are you, really?”

“I’m Lucy,” she told him. “Lucy Preston.” Rage coursed through her like poison. She tossed him the journal. “Amy was my sister. You want to take down Rittenhouse?”

Flynn, warily, nodded.

Lucy felt a smile curl across her lips. “Then I’m your new partner.”


End file.
